~*~
I stand in the unfamiliar bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. There, I see someone I know very well, but also someone who looks like a dumpster fire. My eyeliner is smeared, my hair has come loose from the bobby pins I neatly put there earlier in the evening. The area where my mane meets my head is dark from sweat, and little wisps are curling out and plastering themselves against my matted fur. I look like I’m a clown in a marathon. But I know he won’t notice. Guys never notice this sort of thing after a night out, or at least they’re too polite to say so.
No, I really think they don’t notice. When you get a girl throwing themselves at you and making out with you, you tend to be more focused on what her mouth is doing than her eye-liner or hair. So it’s just a me problem.
If I keep telling myself that enough, maybe I’ll believe it.
I look myself in the eye and take a deep breath. So many decisions…
Do I need to clean out my vagina? I haven’t had a lot of discharge in my panties lately, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Sometimes that white stuff just sticks up in there until it gets cleaned out with a dick or a toy. Not that it stains, but some guys don’t know what to make of what looks like thin ricotta on their dick. Some of them actually think it’s cum though, which is… nice? Probably not worth the risk, though.
With one hand I gently reach up between my legs, while standing, and reach inside myself with my index finger. Things still feel pretty goopy in there, and if I knew this house better I might hop in the shower really quick to clean up. As it is, I don’t have that luxury.
I take a piece of toilet paper and twist it into a tampon-like shape. I strain my shoulder as I reach forward and down, then up between my legs to basically fuck myself with it. It’s vaguely uncomfortable, not anything like using a dildo on myself, but I know it’s effective. I pull the slick wad of paper out of my vagina, check it to see how much discharge it’s gathered, then toss it into the toilet. I give things another finger check, and it seems slicker. Unfortunately, I’m less wet now too. I know he can get me going again pretty easily, but the last thing I want is him reaching down there and finding me bone dry.
I shut my eyes and find my clit with my index finger and thumb. I pinch and twist a little, and go over a series of hot things I’ve looked at on the Internet recently. There was that non-con comic between a brother and sister, the novel I read with the two guys who obviously want to bang, the photos of that time my ex fucked me doggie style over a counter. If this guy knew I was thinking about my ex to get turned on before sex, he might be more than a little reluctant. But it does the trick enough to get me moist again, and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
I open my eyes again, and fix myself with a solemn look. Very quietly, I whisper the kind of encouragement I know I desperately need.
“Okay, Cheerilee, you’re hot,” I tell myself. “He’s totally into this. You can’t leave him waiting too much longer, and you gotta put on the moves when you go out. Be sexy. Be confident. And, you know, enjoy yourself.”
The enjoying myself part is the point, right? I’m here to enjoy sex with someone I found stimulating at the club. No strings attached, no questions asked. Well, I asked when we got here if he’s had an STD test. That went… well.
Honestly, asking about STDs is so often an awkward thing. It ‘kills the mood.’ But once I know I’m safe it’s more fun, and that’s what this is about. Now that it’s out of the way, I can relax.
…okay, I can try to relax. At least I don’t have my period, and that’s not due for another week. Makes my breasts sore though, but hopefully he won’t be a nipple-pincher.
Now, I made sure he has a condom, I have him waiting there in bed doing… god knows what. Probably repositioning, trying to make himself look sexy for me. Flattering, I know. Hell, maybe he’s giving a pep-talk to himself as well. We might not be that different at all, but I prefer to stay on this side of the door and do my own thing. There’s way too much that goes into this for me, that needs to be behind the curtain. It’s… not sexy.
Sure, there are times where girls just throw themselves into bed, clothes come off, dick goes in vagina, bam. Sex. But that’s how girls end up pregnant or with syphilis swiss cheese brain, so I’ll pass on that. Even if it does sound pretty hot.
Too much stalling, need to get to some action here.
I take another deep breath, and nod at myself. Then, I turn stride to the door, and take a moment to position my body. Hip out, standing tall, coy smile, shirt off. Yeah, I’m looking like a traditional little sex object. It’s exactly my intent here, and it give me a momentary feeling of power and control. It also makes me feel less like a bathroom clown.
I open the door, and fix him with an alluring look.
“Well hi there,” I try to purr, without sounding too much like I’m gargling spit.
He smiles, so I must have done it right.
“Hey,” he says breathily.
He’s splayed out in bed, the blanket over his lower half, with his hands folded behind his head. There’s a condom on his chest, right over where one nipple should be, and I’m guessing that wasn’t intentional. I can see he’s pitching a tent under the blanket, and I assume he thinks it looks sexy. It… kinda is? I guess? Maybe? I mean, it’s nice to know he’s hard for me, that’s pretty flattering, but it also looks kind of silly. Like a teepee, or a weird little blanket tower. But I know better than to laugh. It could so easily be misunderstood and kill that erection. And I have purposes for that thing for a while still.
I walk over to the bed, trying to look like an absolute sexpot or model, and slide under the covers next to him. There’s always this moment where one of you needs to make the first move. I tend to wait, because I know if I make the first move and he does at the same time, we’ll bash noses or clink teeth and then try to pretend it didn’t happen.
After a moment, he practically lunges at me, and locks lips with me again. Sure enough his front tooth makes a soft clack against one of mine. I can feel the vibration of it in my jaw in a way that’s almost nauseating, but I don’t react. He’s using his tongue right, not too much saliva, and he’s not gunning for my uvula with that thing. So it’s actually nice, very intimate, very soft. Neither of us is drooling on each other, and he isn’t biting at my lower lip too hard either. All in all, solid marks for making out. Would kiss again.
It’s also enough to get me a little wetter, and I can feel the cotton suctioning to my lady bits like tissue paper to a runny nose.
His hand trails down my body to between my legs. I have to spread them a little, but not side to side, but up and down instead, like I’m in an exercise video. My thighs would clamp down on his hand otherwise, and he’d have a hard time reaching my labia in the first place. Like trying slide your foot into a shoe two sizes too small.
This way, he has access now. He reaches my panties, fumbles with the elastic at the edge for a moment, then finds his way in. He pulls a side of my labia back and finds the hole like he’s done this before once or twice. He’s not quite hitting the g-spot, but it’s nice to feel a little fuller. He starts moving his fingers in and out, which, again, is nice but not wonderful. I’d rather he just put his dick in me, the foreplay is nice and all, but I’m not looking for romance. Not that having a finger put into your vaginal canal is exactly romantic.
I’m suddenly aware of my pubic hair. Shit, did I shave it short enough? I didn’t feel that horrible sandpaper effect when I was cleaning out vaginal discharge, but I wasn’t really checking. The last thing I want is the stubble on the lower part of my vulva grating off this guy’s ball-skin. It hasn’t ever happened before, but it’s still a persistent worry. Well, he hasn’t complained yet, so it’s probably fine.
He pulls his finger out of me, and it makes that weird noise like taking the last slurp from a fast-food soda to let me know I am now ready to receive penis. He seems to sense this too, and breaks away from a vaguely sloppy kiss. I lick my lower lip to clean off a slight trail of spittle, then allow him to move to straddle me.
I spread my legs open for him and bend at the knees, trying to assess what angle I need to have my ass at. Do I need to raise it up? Will I need to help him guide it in? Do I need to tilt my lower back differently? Depending on how his dick bends (and I've seen some pretty weird curves, like, some of those should be illegal) , any one of these could be the right answer. It’s always an issue for casual sex. I want it to be good for him, but I also don’t want him just slamming away at my cervix or thinking I’m a dead fish. I can feel the muscles in my thighs prepping for the workout they’re going to receive, and the air feels cold against my vaginal opening.
I see him reaching down between his legs to roll on the condom, trying to make sure he’s putting it on the right way. I wait patiently, but It’s hard not to raise my head to check to see if he has to take it off and turn it around before peeling it down to the base. He seems to have gotten it right, and there’s a quiet plastic stretching noise as he rolls it over his erection.
Meanwhile I’m pulling my panties off, kicking my feet in the air like a toddler trying to avoid being diapered. It’s all I can do not to accidentally hit him in the penis with a slingshot of my panties as I tug them off one foot. I honestly think there’s no way to take off your panties in a sexy way, once you’re on your back with your legs already kept apart by the body of a guy.
He looks up at me. We make eye contact. He’s waiting for my go-ahead, which is really polite, but also… he looks terrified. He probably wants to be sure I’m enjoying it too, and I put on a nice smile for him. It’s always a relief when a partner wants my satisfaction as well as his own, and I’m happy to put him at ease that yes, this is what I want. Consent, especially enthusiastic consent, can be fun if you do it right. At the worst, you end up looking a little awkward, but I'd always rather both of us have a green light.
I bite my lower lip, but not too much that it looks like I have buck teeth, and give him a flirty look. Then I nod, yes, just to be clear. He smiles, looking relieved, then looks down as he lines himself up with my vaginal opening. I feel him press a few times against the entrance, feeling out if there’s too much resistance for him to actually penetrate me, then at last gives a short shove. His penis slides into me, only catching on the lower part of my labia a little as it goes.
I grit my teeth. Being penetrated feels fucking amazing. It may be the best part of sex besides orgasm, and I relish the moment. All too soon, though, he starts thrusting.
It takes the muscles on the inside of my vagina a few strokes to relax, but then I can begin to enjoy myself. My thighs are pressed against his lower abdomen, and if this goes for more than ten minutes I’m definitely going to start to cramp up. I should have been doing more squats with my workouts, gotten more endurance going. Not that he’ll probably last much longer than that, it would just be one less thing to worry about.
As much as I’d like to just be lost in the moment and enjoying sex, I find I have to focus on what’s going on. I have to point out individual sensations, how he sounds, how he feels, the rhythm of him moving. If not, my mind wanders a little. It feels really good, but my mind links thoughts together too fast. I have my hands on his chest, trying not to use my fingernails on him. I dunno if he’s into that, and it’s always better to ask first. Besides, my fingernails might be dirty. When did I last clean them? Really, one of my pinkie fingers could probably use a trim. When I get home I…
NOPE no stop thinking about nail clippers, stop thinking about nail clippers! Now is not the time!
His pace picks up a little. I try to thrust with him, but his rhythm isn’t completely solid and occasionally we fall out of synch. Then we’re just wiggling our hips forward and back in unison, without much friction happening. When we can get opposite movements going on, though, that feels amazing.
I let myself moan softly, and watch for a reaction. If he doesn’t like it, I can repress it. The last thing I want is for him to get weirded out and go soft in me. It would be embarrassing for the both of us, and no one wants to have that conversation with someone they just met. It’s why I can’t think about something funny, like that meme I saw the other day and oh god now I’m thinking about it, don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh!
Barely suppressing a giggle, I focus my gaze on his hips where they are slamming against my crotch. There’s a very wet noise of suction and lubricant echoing up between us, just to let him know how much my body is enjoying this. He’s going harder and fast now, and the look of him inside me turns me on. I can’t exactly see where he’s entering my vagina (thanks anatomy) but what I can see if pretty hot. He might even be able to get me to orgasm! It’s not super important to me if I do, as long as I get to enjoy this whole experience and maybe ride the roller coaster a second time. Besides, he didn’t seem terrible with his hands, and an orgasm is an orgasm.
I hear him breathing harder, and I moan again as his strokes get a little too deep. I like rough sex, so him hitting my cervix isn’t the worst thing in the world, but too much of it could get difficult to endure. Just last a little longer, Cheerilee, let him cum and then it’ll stop. At least he seems to enjoy my moans, because he starts fucking faster. I can even feel his testicles knocking into my butt occasionally, which isn’t a turn on per-se, but is at least another nice sensation.
He locks eyes with me again, and I feel exposed. But he looks like he wants to tell me he’s about to cum, to warn me. Maybe to ask permission? Who knows, he’s been a gentleman up until now, but this part is always uncertain. I again bite my lip, hoping my nostrils don’t flare as I’m breathing hard. I tell him yes with my eyes, my expression, my hips. He continues to slam his condomed penis against the side of my cervix, and now his face contorts. He’s definitely close.
I really hope I look sexy. I really hope he thinks I’m hot, that he’s enjoying me. He feels good inside me, and I’m happy that he’s going to get off from sex with me, but I still worry that I might look weird. Do I moan weird? Do I have a weird orgasm face? Is my body weird? I hope he doesn’t look at it too hard, or that it’s a turn on for him. Even now, as he’s about to cum, I just can’t help feeling both pleasure and self-consciousness. Still, the enjoyment I get out of it is worth it. It’s quite a rush, like eating super spicy food or bungee jumping. It’s fun, and I thrust against him clumsily to draw him closer.
All at once, he plunges in deep, and I yelp as the weird sensation of the head of the dick rubbing past the cervix hits me. He arches his back, and breathes out a few breathy moans. Although I can’t feel in the depth of my vagina that he’s coming, I can feel that he’s pulsing around the entrance. His dick seems to feel like it has a heartbeat, but most of my nerve endings are near the base of his shaft, so if he lied and told me he wasn’t cumming, I’d pretty much have to believe him. He feels good inside me, and I feel nice and full, but the actual cum itself? Nope, I don’t feel it, never do.
But at least I feel like I did good. I achieved something. I give myself a mental gold star in sex. Yeah, nice job me!
He collapses forward, but doesn’t quite fall on top of me. I wiggle my hips, wanting him to stay in me, but also wanting him to pull out so that the condom doesn’t fall off in me and leak semen into my vaginal canal. I look down and watch as he withdraws, and I see a white gloppy looking, slimy substance on his stomach below his belly button. Damn it, I guess there was still some discharge in me, and now he’s shoveled it out onto his tummy with his dick. I can’t tell if he spots it, or if he just doesn’t care because he just came.
Panting, he shuts his eyes, gives a heavy sigh, and then collapses next to me. I hear the stretching snap of him taking off the condom like a used rubber glove, then a quiet plop as he tosses it next to the bed. He puts an arm around me, apparently a cuddler, and holds me a little close.
“That was amazing,” he says between gasps. “W-was it good for you?”
“Yeah,” I tell him with a little coy laugh.
And honestly, it was. I hate how my inner thighs feel like a pair of slimy eels cuddling, and I hate the smell of sex that sort of is like BO and musk. I also still need to get up and pee soon, because if I don't then I might risk a shiny new yeast infection. But I do like sex, I like pleasing my partner, and I like being fucked. It is what it is, and it’s why I seek it out like this sometimes.
And besides, I can always masturbate later if he falls asleep before getting me off.
-END-
Author's Note
Am I writing porn correctly now, guys?
